


On the Fields of Our Childhood

by hedgerowhag



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben never became Kylo, Fluff and Angst, Hux never became the general of the First Order, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, but he is still not a very good person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/pseuds/hedgerowhag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cruiser landed in front of a swell of hills that stood between the view of the blue-green sea and the flatlands. The hatch of the starship opened down onto the grass, the ramp extending as Leia descended onto the surface of the small moon. Behind her, in the shadow of the ship’s hull, at the top of the ramp, stood a sullen red-haired teenager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Fields of Our Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to get hold of me on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/)
> 
> fyi, im completely aware that in theory this fic is problematic
> 
> bless you Isabelle ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The ocean churns with iron waves, foaming and frothing as if it is boiling beneath the constant assault of the lashing rain. On the horizon, between the black clouds and the crashing sea, there is a faint line of white as if the spell of dawn break.

It is the clear weather, that distant imperceptible line of light and from it, like specks of sand on the wind, hurtle five black shapes.

They approach like the spin of the hurricane, intermediately illuminated by the flashes of lightening before becoming blinded by bolts of plasma. Sparks fly as a shot clips the side of an old unmarked X-Wing, throttling it into an askew flight path between the spherical bodies of TIE fighters.

In plumes of smoke the Starcraft sharply turns skyward, buffeting the TIE fighters behind it in rolling billows of black and grey. Rapidly the fighter climbs in altitude, darting into the low dark clouds as its body begins to spin on its axis.

The TIE fighters follow swiftly behind in formation, fanned on the tail of the rugged X-Wing. They will take it once it leaves the atmosphere, damaged and unable to outmanoeuvre the more agile Starfighters – there will hardly be a fight.

Before the TIE fighters can begin to tighten the distance, the battered X-Wing suddenly begins to slow before tilting backwards and creating an almost lazy arc over the pursuing craft. It drops away out of sight, picking up speed again and hurtling past in the opposite direction in a spin, back down toward the earth.

There is chaos amongst the TIE pilots as they attempt to coordinate their path, but instead of making quick route to follow the falling fighter, the spherical bodies of the TIEs collide into each other in haste to turn back. The wings clip one another, some hurtling to move out of the path of an approaching fighter only to crash into another.

The TIE fighters go out in a collision of light, dying out like a flash of lightening before falling back to the sea and disappearing as smoking debris in the waves.

There is no time for the lone X-Wing pilot to celebrate the victory as the small fighter continues to spin toward the ground, the repulsors frantically trying to direct the craft in some other direction to level out the flight path.

The starship seems to be inevitably destined to crash against the sheer rock of the cliffs that overhangs the lashing sea. Closer and closer it approaches, the waves of the wind on the grass of the hills becoming visible as death becomes certain.

Suddenly, the nose of the X-Wing jerks up and just as it is about to crash onto the rock. Instead, it glides over the grass, avoiding the plunge down onto the cliff face.

Covered in plumes of smoke and spitting fire, the fighter hurtles over the guarding hills of the coastline and down onto the planes beyond where lie the ruins of charred rock and timber tracing lines of walls that no longer stand.

The miraculous recovery does not last long as the fighter veers too low and clips on the ground, bouncing back up before coming to skid across the grass. It spins across the rain slicked earth, racking up chunks of mud and soft soil before eventually digging its nose down into the earth and halting its crash.

A huff of fire and sparks rises over the fighter with a cloud of black smoke. The hatch is ejected from the X-Wing, falling somewhere out of the way. A single pilot climbs out from the cockpit, slumping over the lip before clambering out and limping several feet on the grass before collapsing.

The pilot's strength fails him as a fit of shuddering coughs send spasms through his body. Dark patches bloom on his sand coloured clothing, dripping as he crawls through the grassland, hands scrabbling for grip in the rain slicked dirt.

A fuel cell explodes in the fighter, sending a beacon of fire and smoke into the air. The shock wave throws the surviving pilot forward into the darkness of the grassland.

He tumbles over the knotted bumps of the ground, coughing out splutters of dirt from between his teeth. Blood clumps his hair that has fallen out of several braids that secured a messy fringe. Slumping over onto his side, the pilot looks back onto the burning wreckage of his Starfighter, the fire unfazed by the rain.

An engine whistles overhead as a large transporter throws a shadow down onto the wounded man. He looks up to the rumbling sky, seeing the mass approach him. He can’t do anything but watch it land, the ramps lowering as the white forms of Stormtroopers march down onto the rain flooded plane.

Seeing their target, the ‘Troopers quickly surround the pilot, their blaster rifles trained on him. The man observes them, licking away the mess of blood and dirt water from his lips.

Perhaps, he can take the blaster at his belt and wound or kill as many Stormtroopers as he can before they either end him or there is nothing left to shoot. After all, it doesn’t matter if they get him first; the blood slowly oozing from the pilot’s side will definitely conclude his fate within the next ten minutes if he doesn't get backup - there is little left to risk.

Two of the ‘Troopers step forward, about to haul their prisoner up who as they approach reaches for the concealed weapon.

Before, the pilot can snatch out the blaster, a bolt of plasma darts through the air and strikes through the head of the closest ‘Trooper approaching the wounded man. A second bolt follows, striking down the other soldier.

They collapse, spewing red across the ground.

Chaos erupts amongst the Stormtroopers as they hoist up their rifles and scope the flat planes of the grasslands. There is nothing to warn them when three bolts of plasma set the air alight, cutting through their ranks.

The pilot takes the diversion as an opportunity to take up his own blaster and begin to shoot down the ‘Troopers as they send answering bolts of plasma somewhere into the darkness. There is not much that he can do as murk creeps over his vision and grip weakens on the blaster.

Soon all of the ‘Troopers lie scattered on the ground, their armour shattered, bodies mutilated beyond recognition by the force of the bolts from the unseen shooter.

Amidst them, the pilot remains collapsed, unconsciousness slowly creeping on him when he sees a shadow rise on the near horizon. He thinks that he has gone delusional.

The rain is still pouring as the black clouds race overhead and a stranger walks across the grasslands, sloping when their feet sink into the waterlogged ground.

It’s the point of the slung rifle that the pilot sees first. Then, the rising edges of the coat that whip in the wind like wings. It is only when the stranger is not three paces away that in the shadows the pilot sees the red flash of hair.

The wounded man smiles, too drowsy to keep his eyes open. “I always knew you’d become a solider,” he whispers and loses consciousness.

 

_Twenty years ago_

Peace, it seems, exists in the galaxy only in its name: A hollowed out word while beneath its flag people scheme and bid their time until the moment is the most opportune for them to wage war.

The last semblance of what this word meant was destroyed when evidence was brought before the New Republic concerning the rise of a military organisation named the First Order. Though the notion was only infant when discovered, only a spark, the fuse had to be snuffed out before it could reach its end.

The effort was made by the Republic and the Resistance in joint force, cutting as close to the root as they could without edging onto the danger of provoking further violence.

With the evidence, it had been easy to justify the actions and clear out the traces of whatever individuals that had to be removed to avoid the rise of the First Order – family included; no risks could be taken. With relatives of the initial conspirers being part of the scheming, there was no guilt in overlooking their deaths.

But... the deaths of innocents – of children. It hindered those who gave the orders.

It seemed like mercy to them, calling away the executioners and offering their outstretched hands to those children. They will be used for the good for the Republic, integrated in their schemes, educated and brought to functional use in the New Republic military.

This choice had become questioned by many, giving rise to the concern of what if these children will become the cause of the New Republic’s downfall should they choose to have their revenge on the people who executed their families.

At the centre of this fear and havoc was the child that became the charge of General Leia Organa. Truly, he seemed insignificant, though a child of the prior commandant of the Arkanis Academy before it fell, and barely a threat to anything other than himself at the age of fifteen standard years.

He should have been sent away with the rest of the children, but perhaps it was the Force that showed General Organa something that convinced her to keep Armitage Hux by her side for as long as she could as they journeyed to Hosnian Prime.

Refusing to cooperate, the child did everything he could to prolong the silent war he had begun to wage against Leia aboard her refitted cruiser, seeking isolation in the offered rooms.

He was old enough to be aware of what happened, old enough to know what had been done to his father and people like him. So instead of patronising the boy, Leia made what effort she could of offering him the treatment she would give an adult and respecting his silence.

It was partway through the journey when a call came for Leia, urging her away on immediate business elsewhere.

Unable to deviate from the orders to take the child of the commandant to the capital of the New Republic, Leia sent a message for officers to come and collect her charge before she continues on her route.

While waiting for the escorts to arrive, the cruiser came into mooring on a small moon that orbited a gas giant in a planetary system of no particular significance.

From realspace, as the cruiser slowly descended toward the moon, it was visible that its surface was almost entirely covered with water with sparse masses of land with ice caps at the poles. What minor areas of ground there were shivered with grass, seeming to be the only native vegetation on the planet.

Turquoise water lapped against sheer cliff sides, bringing forth bundles of brown and dark green seaweed onto the shattered earth of the coastline. Some distance from the ocean, in the broad spell of daylight, nestled a minor port, the only speck of life for miles about.

The cruiser landed in front of a swell of hills that stood between the view of the blue-green sea and the flatlands. The hatch of the starship opened down onto the grass, the ramp extending as Leia descended onto the surface of the small moon.

Behind her, in the shadow of the ship’s hull at the top of the ramp, stood a sullen, red-haired teenager.

Leia attempted to smile at him. “Armitage,” she said, “will you come with me?”

They had barely spoken during the journey as the boy avoided the General with stubborn determination and when forced, only replied with ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Leia didn’t scold him but neither did she coddle him.

Reluctantly, the boy walked down the ramp, the sunlight slowly sloping over him. Having spent most of his time aboard the ships of the Imperial navy, the boy had a sallow if not a sickly complexion and it was only exaggerated by the redness of his hair and the typical darkness of his clothes.

The boy stood in front of Leia amid the grass, squinting against the sun.

“You understand that under circumstances I must let the Republic military take charge of you,” said Leia, “and I cannot make the rest of the journey with you. The people who will take you to Hosnian Prime will arrive soon, but in the meantime, would you like to see this island with me?”

The boy considered the General for a moment and her smile. Looking back inside the dark depth of the ship, he turned to Leia and gave a single, sharp nod.

Rounding the heft of the large cruiser that glowed in the midday sun, they walked up the hill where the grass reached the height of the knee, peppered with purple, red, yellow and white flowers. The wind made the stems bow back and forth, sometimes sending rippling waves of green down the fields with the aroma of the blossoms.

Behind them, the sea whipped against the rocks, hushing and whispering as some distant seabirds cried out on the crests of the foaming waves. The boy sometimes faltered, pausing to brush his hands over the tall grasses and to watch the passing shadows of peculiar creatures.

Catching himself lingering, the boy stumbled to catch up with the General who stood at the top of a hill.

On the other side the hillock sloped down sharply, permitting them to look over the expanse of the flat grasslands and the faint blue horizon of mountains beyond the mirror pools of the marshes. On the edge of that swampy land there was a sprawl of domed roofs and tarp pavilions, crowded by the silvery shimmer of moored starships.

Before the boy could finish gawking at the sight, Leia began to make the steep path downhill when suddenly a sharp whistle sounded overhead.

They both looked up, searching for the source when a _whirr_ of an engine rushed over them, briefly silencing all other sound before a shadow came to loom over the two figures standing on the hill.

The boy darted aside as the white and blue body of a small fighter landed in the grass, the engines quickly powering down. The starship burrowed deep among the flowers, falling as still as a stone as the ocean breeze hushed over it.

The hatch hissed and lift open from over the cockpit. Suddenly, something darted over the lip of the fighter and hurtled through the grass towards Leia.

A loud _uff_ was punched out of the General as the small creature crashed against her, clinging onto Leia’s midsection like a four-legged spider.

After a moment of Leia attempting to catch her balance, it was clear that what was gripping onto her was in fact not a small furred beast or for that matter an insect, but instead a dark haired boy wearing sand coloured robes. He could have been no more than ten years old with puppy fat clinging to every inch of his small body and height yet to be gained.

Once steady, Leia wrapped her arms around the small boy and swung him around in a circle, both laughing.

Wide brown eyes stared out from beneath the mess of dark hair. “Mom!” exclaimed the boy. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

Leia only smiled, but said nothing to explain herself. “Is your uncle at the port?” she asked instead.

The small boy nodded, his shaggy hair flopping about. “Yeah, but I got bored so I took the ship to look around.”

Something fond and annoyed appeared in Leia’s eyes as she looked at her son, still held tightly in her arms. A rustle of the grass reminded her of the teenager who stood nearby, glancing nervously between the mother and son and the Starfighter that had just landed beside him.

Leia knelt down in front of the small boy before her and took his hands. “Can you do me a favour?” she asked.

The boy nodded.

“I am going to go and look for your uncle at the port. While I’m gone, could you look after Armitage until I come back? Maybe play a game with him?”

The boy looked at the sullen teenager, his eyes going wide and lips tight. He looked back to his mother and given one final nod.

Leia smiled brightly and kissed the boy on the forehead. “Be nice,” she said and stood up.

As his mother descended down the hill toward the port, the boy turned sharply on his heel and marched through the tall grass to the red-haired teenager.

He thrusted out his right arm, puffing up his chest, and said “I’m Ben.”

The redhead looked him up and down, his lips twisting into a sucked in frown. Eventually, he took the boys hand and gave it a stiff shake. “And I am Hux. Pleasure.”

Ben frowned, blinking confusion. “But mom called y—”

“Hux,” the redhead repeated, tightening his grip on the smaller hand.

Ben wrung back his hand, rubbing it. “Alright… Hux,” he said pouting. He glanced at the redhead’s dark, stiff clothing and his frown deepened. “Why are you dressed like that anyway? What are you? A soldier or something?”

It seemed that just at those words Hux stood taller and straighter, any expression on his face flattening out. “I will be, some day.”

“Really?” Ben gasped, his frown changing into a wide toothy grin in an instance. “You will fight for the Republic? What are you gonna be? A pilot?”

“Uh, well—” Hux muttered, his expression suddenly sour as if he had misspoken.

“That is so cool!” Ben sprung forth, grasping the teenager by his arms who fought his instinct to recoil. “But not as cool as becoming a Jedi Knight,” Ben said slyly.

“A what?”

“That’s what my mom says I will become but my uncle says I still have a lot of training to do.” The boy looked smug as he crossed his arms over his chest, expecting an expression of awe from the teenager. “My dad doesn’t want me to be a Jedi Knight, but he is proud of me. What does your dad say about you being a solider?”

Hux said nothing and continued to glare at the beaming boy, his teeth clenched and jaw drawn askew as if from the effort not to do something he will regret.

Noticing this, Ben slightly deflated and looked around for something to switch his attention to. “Anyway…” he muttered. “Have you been here before?”

Hux shook his head from side to side.

“Where are you from?”

There was no reply as the redhead continued to stare.

Ben screwed up his face in annoyance at Hux’s lack of responsiveness. Growing bored, he walked back to the Starfighter and resealed the hatch. If his mom had told Ben to wait until she comes back, he will – even if he doesn’t necessarily like the company.

Footsteps whispered past Ben in the grass and when he looked up he saw the red-haired boy stand beside the cliff side, looking down at the water with an awe struck expression.

“Careful in case the rocks break off and you fall down!” Ben called out casually.

Instantly Hux jerked away and back stumbled up the hill from the cliff edge, looking around fearfully at where he just stood.

“Just kidding,” the other boy sniggered. “Chunks would only fall off if the ground was soft but the rock is real solid under the grass.”

“I knew that,” Hux spat, looking at the cliff skittishly.

Ben walked down from the hills crest toward the cliff, kicking aside the bulky heads of the wild flowers. “Haven’t you ever seen an ocean before?”

“I have!” shouted Hux, sounding defensive and then he added, a little quieter, “I just don’t remember much of it.”

“Well, it’s big, and really, really blue and full of water—”

“I know what an ocean is, you idiot!”

 Ben sniggered again but it didn’t sound mean.

“Do you wanna go and see it?”

“What?” Hux looked down at the boy next to him in confusion.

“Do you wanna go and see the ocean?”

“But there is no way to get down there, we can’t just climb!”

“That’s why I have the ship.”

Hux glanced up at the Starfighter with the scraped paint and slightly scratch fogged glass. “We can’t,” he said to the boy. “The General told us to wait here.”

“My _mom_ won’t even notice that we were gone,” Ben grinned and walked back up the hill toward the craft. “Come on, it will be fun!” he called over his shoulder and then began to clamber up towards the lip of the fighter.

Ben didn’t look to see if Hux followed as he sat down on the flight couch and began to strap himself into the harness, but when he heard soft _thumps_ on the hand holds Ben smiled.

Inside the Starfighter, there was a second seat directly behind the pilots for a passenger – though slightly narrower – and Hux fell down onto it.

Fumbling for the buckles, he still looked uncertainly around himself as if he would see the General storming down over the hill towards the two boys. A chucked helmet knocked Hux out of his daze.

“Ready?” Ben asked, smirking toothily from behind the tinted visor of his own helmet.

Before Hux could reply, frantically trying to strap on the headgear, the repulsors came to life.

The fighter moved gently off the slope, the grass shivering around it like water, before spinning onto the grasslands overlooking toward the small port. Tipping down, the fighter suddenly raced along the curve of the slope, hurtling in the direction of the settling.

The buildings drew closer and closer in almost no time and the walls of the port opened beneath the fighter. The spots that were once tiny grains grow into the figures of the civilians that wandered between the sheltered markets stalls and the doorways of the stone houses with thatched roofs.

Nobody noticed the small white and blue Starfighter zipping around the port, dipping down to fly a foot above the grass and drawing a circle around the walls before sharply turning back toward the coast. The nose of the fighter tipped up as is glided back up the hill, taking a vertical path to the sky.

Blue opened around the craft as the grass disappeared and both of the boys were pressed down into the seats, one looking ahead with wide petrified eyes while the other grinned, cheeks ruddy and eyes crinkling with giddiness.

Then, suddenly in a moment of weightlessness, the fighter twirled and plummeted down. But instead of the ground appearing beneath it, there is only the glimmering wide blue.

Hux scrabbled for purchase inside the small craft, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. 

“What do you think?” Ben called out, his voice pitched higher, only his bobbly head in the helmet visible over the backrest of the flight couch.

Only confused squeaky noises bubble out of Hux’s throat as he stared in every direction.

“Wanna take a closer look?”

Not a chance was given for Hux to answer before the fighter plummeted again and the faint white ripples become waves, crowned with bubbles of sea water.

It seemed for a moment as if they were going to crash into the water and Hux’s feet were squeaking against the floor in an attempt to jam himself up against the seat.

Suddenly, the yoke was roughly jerked back and Hux was sent flailing across the flight couch, legs kicking up and hands slapped against the windows.

The fighter levelled out above the water and Ben looked back over his seat, laughing when he saw Hux sprawled out and breathing heavily, his helmet askew.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Ben giggled and turned back to the opening view.

It took a moment for Hux to collect himself, taking deep breaths to steady his heaving but eventually, he sat up and peered out the window.

It was as if the sky has melted and dripped down into one endless bowl in shimmering turquoise ripples. With the ocean so close beneath them, it was visible that there was more colour to it than it seemed at a distance: dark green hues peered out from the depths, an unnatural bright blue in the bloom of green-grey and shimmers of ivory in the white frothing foam on the waves.

Something zipped out of the water and Hux almost bit through his tongue with a hitched gasp.

A small silvery-blue fish flipped in the air, slapping long red wings before flopping back in the water. Then, like small meteorites, an entire herd of the flying fish darted out of the water, fluttering their wings to become suspended in the water if only momentarily before disappearing in the depths again.

More and more small silver fishes plopped in and out of water, their little mouths gaping as they crested the waves. Watching their round eyes ogling the strange craft, Hux couldn’t help but begin to smile, his chilly features becoming warmed with laughter and the flush of pink on his cheeks.

“Hey! I think they wanna join too!” Ben said glancing over the side of the Starfighter. “Wanna see how high we can go?”

This time, Hux was prepared for the sudden jerk in the movement of the craft as its nose tipped skyward and it began to hurtle up, wings spinning in circles. This time, he laughed and gripped onto the sides as he watched the blue and the sun spin in a dizzying dance.

Laughter of both of the boys filled the cabin as the curvature of the small moon bowed the horizon and the sky darkened above.

The small boy in the pilot’s seat reached over the yoke towards the controls and began flicking the buttons as the console screamed red flashing warnings. And then— the repulsors were cutting out, the engines silent.

“Wha— What—” Hux began to stutter, grasping hold of the headrest in front of him but then the fighter was tipping back, utterly silent, and the ocean came back into view.

“Ben—! Ben!” shouted Hux, trying to shake the boy, but the safety harness restricted him from reaching that far. “We’re gonna crash!”

It’s almost became sickening, this constant spin as the moon continued its spiralling approach but Ben only laughed and said “relax, I know what I’m doing.”

But the planet kept spinning and spinning until the curve flattened and the faint spec of the inland port becomes visible. As if flicked by a switch, Ben reached back to the controls and the console came back online, the repulsors powering back on.

The fall slowed down and the flight path of the Starfighter evened out into a lazy cruise dozens of feet above ground level as both of the boys panted with exhilaration inside the cabin.

“That was amazing,” whispered Hux, trying to brush aside the sweat on his forehead from beneath the visor.

“See!” Ben cheered. “It was fun!” He kept working at the console, sometimes adjusting the yoke to create a loose circle around the port below when suddenly the boy looked up and whispered “uh-oh.”

“What?” Hux asked, still a little giddy.

“I think we should go back down.”

The boys didn’t speak again until the coast where the cruiser landed came into view. The craft was not alone now: there was a second beside it, larger and sleeker in shape and on the grass in front of it there were three figures.

“You know when you start training,” said Ben, his mood mournful. “Will you… maybe… try to come and visit?”

Silently, Hux listened as the younger boy’s voice dwindled into a murmur. The fighter continued to spiral closer to the ground, the faces of the New Republic officers coming into focus.

“It’s just… it gets lonely. I will be here sometimes, if you come looking.”

After a moment, Ben heard Hux whisper in return, the ground bumping against the Starfighter as they landed. “’kay, I will try.”

“Yeah?” Ben turned around, his helmet bumped slightly askew.

“Yeah,” replied Hux with something akin to a smile. “Maybe you can show me the mountains next time.”

“I will. Promise,” Ben insisted.

There was a rap on the glass of the cockpit and reluctantly the hatch opened to the stern face of General Organa.

“I thought I told you to look after him,” Leia hissed, her voice low.

“I did!” protested Ben, climbing out of the fighter. “I just took him for a ride, it wasn’t dangerous or anything.”

“I saw the stunts that you pulled, young man,” Leia said pointedly at her son, “and I’m not impressed.”

With Ben glared into silence beside the craft, Leia turned to Hux who still sat with the helmet in his lap. He glanced between the two Republic officers, shrinking back into the seat.

“Come.” Leia offered a hand to Hux. “It’s time to go.”

Reluctantly, Hux got out of the Starfighter and stood beside the General, the smile that once flushed his face completely gone. Hux went to look at Ben but found the spot where the kid stood just a moment ago empty and instead there was a trail in the tall grass leading to the running boy as he made his way up the hill.

Some distance from the group, at the top the line of hillocks, there was a figure in a dark cloak, their face imperceptible. When the small boy approached the figure, they hold out their hand which Ben clasped tightly and hid behind the billows of the cloak.

Looking back down the slope, Ben caught Hux’s eye and grinned before throwing his free hand upwards and waving frantically.

Hux didn’t respond. Instead, he looked back to the General and the officers.

Leia attempted to smile reassuringly at boy but the certain sourness in her features showed that she was aware that there was little comfort to be given in this situation.

“These people will take care of you,” said Leia. “They will take you the rest of the way and make sure that you are safe.”

The red-haired boy looked between the General and the officers, considering them before nodding sharply to Leia, his young face stern.

Another sad smile crossed the General’s face as she held out her hand to the boy.

After a brief handshake, the General and the commandant’s son parted, the boy leaving aboard the New Republic cruiser with the officers as the General stood below, watching the craft lift to the sky.

 

_Now_

The first time Ben wakes up, it takes him a moment to peel open his eyelids. He is met by the blur of artificial light and the stark whiteness of sheets that he has come to associate with the medbay. 

Something shuffles on Ben’s right side and when he groggily turns his head, he sees a small medical droid prod at his arm, carefully peeling back the bandages that cover it from wrist to elbow.

When it notices that the patient has regained consciousness, instead of synthesising speech, it gives a light _whirr_  to acknowledge him.

“Am I…” Ben tries. “Am I safe?”

The droid lifts its head, the optical lens focusing on the man. It bobs its head once and turns away, puttering off somewhere else.

Ben loses his consciousness again and welcomes it with ease.

 

The second time awareness creeps back onto Ben the lights inside the room have been dimmed and there is no droid attending him. Though the room is isolated from other patients, there is no equipment to suggest that Ben had been in a critical condition when he was brought in.

The only visible sign of the seriousness of Ben’s injuries and the length of his stay are the transparent tubes running to his bandaged wrist.

Sluggishly Ben lifts up his hands and rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes, groaning at the dull throb at the base of his skull. Something bleeps overhead but Ben doesn’t take notice of it.

He got away easy. Easier than before anyway.

Ben had chosen to go on a solo mission to search for the hidden Star Destroyers stowed away by the First Order in the same way they have been discovered by commander Poe Dameron. However, he never believed that he would be as ‘lucky’ as Dameron until he managed to hurtle at lightspeed into an entire fleet.

They hadn’t noticed him at first and of course, Ben having no impulse control to speak of, decided to start his own investigation instead of reporting instantly to base.

One misfortune led to the next and Ben found himself being fleeing at lightspeed.

Somehow, the TIEs managed to trace him and were on his tail the moment he entered realspace. Perhaps Ben should have not been surprised at the extent to which the pilots had gone to protect the secrets of the First Order, considering how fragile it has been after being resurrected from the ashes that the New Republic swept away into the corner.

If the rise of the First Order has taught them anything, it is that there are always enough fanatics of the Empire to try and return to the galaxy to its former ‘glory’ no matter how many of them you wipe out. 

Ben stretches out on the bed, popping the joints of his legs as his fingers rake through his hair – now free of the braids. He is wearing nothing but a thin white gown, beneath it, with every shift of his muscles, he feels fragile scar tissue pull and protest as it tries to keep what should be inside.

When Ben considers turning over and going back to sleep, the door slides open and a rush of sound floods inside the room. Before Ben can try to make sense of it the doorway is sealed shut again and silence returns.

“Ben Organa, you have been retrieved to the D’Qar Resistance headquarters until you are fit for service again,” is the first thing that the officer at the door says in the alcove of shadows where the overhead lights do not reach. “The General is very displeased with your rash actions.”

“It was out of my control,” Ben argues sluggishly.

“I am sure,” clips the officer and steps forward into the room.

The soft white light washes over the figure, colouring the pallor of his skin, filling the sharp angles with shadows and setting the red of his hair aglow.

It feels as if Ben’s heart has stilled.

Stern faced and cold eyed stands the kid that Ben that once met who was so sour it made his ten-year-old face scrunch up.

The same kid Ben made laugh like it was the first time in his life.

But he isn’t a kid anymore. No. He is a man now. Still the little soldier Ben had met, but this time in a real uniform – a uniform of the New Republic hidden under a heavy black coat.  

“I always knew that you’d alive,” Ben whispers, trying to bite down the smile that keeps tugging at his lips.

The red-haired man – Hux – looks at him, face apathetically emotionless. But then, why a sigh he rolls his eyes. “And I always knew you would still be an idiot. You almost managed to kill yourself.”

Like withheld tears the laughter spills from Ben and he is reaching for Hux who glances at the offered hand like a bag of vomit but then steps forward and takes Ben’s hand into his own. The leather of the glove is smooth like butter under Ben’s touch – warm, solid, present.

“But you saved me,” Ben says, clasping Hux’s hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over the sharp knuckles.

“Somebody had to. Jedi Knights are not as disposable as you might think.”

With rigid and unsure movements Hux sits down on the edge of the reclined medical bed, his hand still held in Ben’s.

“Where have you been all this time?” asks Ben. “Why didn’t you ever come back to see me?”

Hux looks at him uncomfortably. “I had things to do.”

“ _Things_ ,” Ben says, dazed, thinking about the clear liquid that is running into his blood stream, wondering if it is the reason why his tongue feels three times larger. “Yes, ‘course.”

Hux offers a barely there smile, so soft Ben thinks he has imagined it because seconds later it disappeared under the mask of the perfect soldier.

Now that the room has finally stopped spinning, Ben can see how the years have gathered on Hux, how they settled in the bruises under his eyes, tightened his tired pale skin and stole all of the softness of long gone innocence. But they did nothing to rob him of the brightness of his red-orange hair or the way pride radiates from his like light from a star.

“You’ve grown up pretty,” murmurs Ben and for a moment regrets it until he sees Hux try to look anywhere but him, blushing like a kid who just got their first peck on the cheek.

“Are you ever going to let go of my hand?” Hux snaps and shoots a glance at the space between them.

“Oh.” Ben hazily realises that he is still clinging onto Hux’s hand. “I dunno.”

“You should sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s easier than passing out from the anaesthetic.”

Ben blinks oafishly. “Why do I need an anan—thee-eh.” His tongue ties and words end up as garble. He tries again, “—an anaesthetic?” 

There is slightly condescending glare thrown towards Ben before Hux speaks again. “You crashed an exploding fighter before preceding to crawl out of it. You had several lacerations, a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured lung.”

“Oh,” softly Ben says and burrows into the bed, feeling the warm fuzz of the medicine set in – tingling like alcohol.

Suddenly, like the picked string of an instrument a sharp flash of pain cuts through Ben’s abdomen and he jerks up right with a wordless gasp.

A wide palm is pressing Ben back down onto the mattress as his medical gown is pushed aside.

He wants to laugh and tell Hux not to get overexcited, but then he sees the taped white gauze and hurried, gloved hands undoing it – checking, desperately.

“Jus’ get a droid or somethin’,” Ben mumbles trying to swat Hux away who has already managed to remove the tape and is carefully peeling back the final layer of the gauze.

“I do have medical training; it’s essential,” Hux responds, sounding distracted as he prods at the pink, bacta regenerated skin. There is no clear damaged but Hux continues to inspect the flesh carefully.

As if there is some invisible damage to be found, the leather gloves are slipped off and soft, pale hands draw across the knitted flesh of the scar.

“You have nice hands, y’know,” Ben struggles to slur.

Hux hums but doesn’t seem to hear what Ben has said. The gauze is replaced on the damaged area and the tape is smoothed back in down, warm hands brushing over Ben’s abdomen and he can’t help but follow the movements.

It’s the medicine that makes Ben’s mind foggy when he meets Hux’s pale eyes, it is also the medicine that makes him reach up and twist his hands in the lapels of the coat and pull Hux down until he is all but falling down onto the bed. It is also, Ben convinces himself, the reason why he crashes his lips against Hux’s and keeps him there until with force he is thrown back onto the bed.

“You fucking idiot,” Hux spits down at the wounded man, his face screwed up with anger. “I knew you would be this way.” And then he is charging out of the room, the slide of the door almost taunting.

Ben stares at the spot where Hux had sat moments ago. His arms fall limp the to the mattress and blames it on the medicine when heat pools in his eyes.

 

On what could have been considered the second day the room began to bore Ben out of his mind.

He woke up slightly disorientated and groggy, falling in and out of sleep before his head began to clear. A droid brought him food throughout the day and another one came making sure that his recovery is progressing. There were several visitors, some checking in, assuring that he will be up and running for duty soon, while others asked for a report of what occurred.

Ben did not hear from his mother and neither did he ask where she is; she doesn’t need the extra concern.

Without anything to take his mind off the wait, other than attempting to meditate on the bed – which became disrupted by the dull ache of the needles in his wrist – Ben could only replay the events of the prior days over and over again until they became clear and sharp.

First, he tried to revisit the memories of that small moon in the binary star system where he crashed his fighter. But that instantly brought back the memory of Hux because that is where they had met as children.

It was a pleasant memory, once, until it became instantly connected to seeing Hux storm of the room as if diseased after being kissed by Ben.

He now understands that he shouldn’t have done it but it still stings, especially since Ben hasn’t heard from Hux again since the incident. But how would he have time for some moody Jedi with a war on the horizon?

For the hundredth time that day Ben curses himself for clinging so desperately to the thought of the kid he met once. Hux is not that kid anymore, he is a soldier, and they haven't seen each other for twenty years. Of course he didn’t have time to come to some lowly moon while Ben made every excuse to go there.

Eventually, Ben turns over on the cot and goes to sleep, dreaming Starfighters zipping through the air and the ripples on a calm ocean as it drips into darkness.

 

 

“Even you, the master of the Knights of Ren, have never faced such a test.”

He knows that voice.

He has known it since he was a child. But he has always told it to go away because if he does what it wants Ben to do, he will never be able to keep his promise that he made to someone a very long time ago.

Black corridors open around Ben, lights running around the curving corner. He runs but the walls twist and the sky expands above – cloudless.

“All remaining systems will bow to the First Order and remember this as the last day of the Republic!”

He turns, searching.

Pale eyes. White Skin.

Red hair.

An ocean of white ripples in salute.

A child cries. Someone runs. Snow creaks underfoot.

The blade of a red lightsaber ignites, spitting sparks from its unstable core. It is swung upwards with grace and drops down in a single slash.

Ben jerks awake, reaching for his own lightsaber though he knows it has been lost in the crash.

Searching around himself, Ben sees that there is nothing before him but the medbay room where he is sitting up right in the bed, the rough covers thrown aside. With a heavy sigh Ben falls back down onto the pillows, swallowing down his anxiety.

Something taps inside the room, like the pecking of a beak against the glass of a window that is not there.

Frowning, Ben looks around.

There is silent monitoring equipment shoved aside into the corners, stands with the drips at the bedside and concealed cabinets built into the walls. When Ben turns to his left, he sees a reclined seat that wasn’t there before, plumped with extra padding for a long stay.

Slumped in the plush armchair is a slightly haggard looking figure of Hux. He has abandoned his uniform and instead wears something that resembles off duty clothes – dark green and grey. There is a datapad in his right hand while the other skims over the surface as his eyes rapidly scan the illuminated screen.

Ben goes to ask him what he is doing here, but instead closes his mouth and watches the displayed diagrams become manipulated under Hux’s fingertips.

Without the coat Hux looks smaller, a little more tired, like he had shaken away all of the armour he wears to show that he is in control. His hands are equally bare and Ben can now see with his head clear of the effects of the medicine that Hux’s knuckles have been scuffed and cuticles bitten raw, nails worn down to stubs.

“I was meaning to come yesterday,” says Hux, his attention fixed on the data feed. “But I was on duty and there was no time.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing that is of your immediate concern.”

“If you won’t tell me I could just pull it out of your mind.”

“Go on,” Hux finally turns to Ben and raises his eyebrows in challenge. When Ben does nothing, he sighs and looks back to the datapad. “Just as I thought.”

They don’t speak again. Ben watches Hux flick away tabs on the handheld display, sometimes pausing and enlarging them to inspect the information feed. Alerts sometimes bleep up, indicating incoming messages that Hux either discards or responds to with brief strings of text. If there are any calls, they are quickly averted.

It is a slow realisation in Ben’s mind that Hux has found a life in the New Republic – even amongst the rebels – and he is no longer a scared kid that is putting on a brave face for the adults. He has a place, a home, a _life._

Ben turns onto his side and shifts his arm under the pillow, allowing him watch Hux more comfortably from the bed. “So what is it now?” he asks. “Captain Hux? You seem so busy. Must be tiring managing so many people—”

“It’s warrant officer.” Hux jabs at the display viciously.

“Oh.”

Hux’s features tighten, his mouth twisted and knuckles white as he grips the datapad.

Ben should probably leave it where it is, or risk worsening the fragile situation, but in the same moment silence seems like the more dangerous option. So instead, he says the first thing that comes to his sleep blurred mind.

“Do you miss it?” Ben asks, his voice a little weak – throat dry and lips cracked. “Do you miss your life before the Republic took you in?”

For a long while, Hux doesn’t answer and Ben considers that maybe he doesn’t want to but eventually the datapad flicks off, the lights dying out.

Hux looks ahead, lips tight, his eyes filled with coldness.

“Sometimes I think it was their mistake, keeping the children that could remember who they are, where they came from,” says Hux, his voice levelled, controlled. “If I was in their place, I would have only selected the infants.”

It makes Ben flinch, tensing where he lies on the stiff mattress – the grogginess of sleep lost entirely.

“I would have taken away their names, their identities and swiped their slates clean,” continues Hux. “If they were to have asked where they came from, I would have told them: ‘your father and mother are the laws that guide you on the righteous path. Obey and be grateful.’ Then, there wouldn’t even be a seed of doubt.” Hux smirks humourlessly, eyes fixed on the wall ahead, like a soldier in parade rest. “The Republic is blind, and they don’t even know it.”

“Lucky they have you then,” Ben tries to smile, but knows that he has failed even at that simple gesture. “Look at you, talking like a politician, and yet you’re only a warrant officer.” His words fall flat – grave.

Hux finally looks away from the point of fixation and instead glances at his hands in his lap, scored red by the edges of the datapad. “They refuse to promote me.”

“What?” Ben asks in genuine confusion; he has never known the military of the New Republic to be prejudice in such matters. If a soldier does their duty, if they are loyal, efficient, they will be rewarded for their hard work.

“I am far more capable than any of those people out there,” Hux continues to speak, something in his tone warning Ben of sealed down emotion beginning to arise. “But they are afraid. Afraid of what would happen if I were to press a blade to their backs the moment I have power.”

Ben says nothing to this; Hux isn’t stupid enough to even try and believe him if Ben was to say that Hux is wrong. Of course the New Republic fears him; Hux is the greatest danger to the strength that the New Republic and the Resistance have built. Grown on the propaganda of the former glory of the Empire, he now has every means by which to restore it and destroy the Republic from within.

Hux thumbs the edges of the datapad, teeth biting into the inside of his cheek as his face hardens. “Perhaps it would have been better if the day those soldiers held blasters to my head someone pulled the trigger.”

“Don’t, don’t say that—” Ben reaches for Hux, but the rift between them is too large to cross and his arm falls away limp against the side of the bed, the tubes in his wrist tugging him back.

“So I keep shoving that mistake into their faces,” says Hux, his lips tugging into a grimace, ignoring Ben’s gesture – like he hasn’t even heard him. “You wondered why I refused to go by my first name. ‘Hux’ will be the only name I will ever use because whenever those people out there hear it, see it, they think of the commandant from Arkanis, the secret warmonger. Every day I will remind them who I am and I will remind them of the mistake they had made when they didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Hux… Please don’t,” whimpers Ben as he watches the man before him try to hide away any emotion that might make itself known, though his words betray him. He tries not to feel what has quenched beneath the surface through the Force, but the spider webs of truth brush against him in the air.

“And do you know what stops me from fixing the mistake they made?” Hux asks, a mocking cover of ease stealing into his voice. “Because many of the children with who I was recruited didn’t hesitate to do it – some people even did it for them. Do you know what stopped me?”

Ben wants to tell him to shut up, that he doesn’t want to hear anymore, but instead he asks “what was it?”

“A memory from when I was a child,” Hux begins to explain. “A memory of some stupid little boy who didn’t see me for any of the things that make people fear me. Instead, he gave me a memory of sunlight, green fields and an ocean.”

Maybe it is just Ben’s mind playing but there are tears in Hux’s stern eyes and he feels a wrenching sob lodge in his own chest, threatening to blow apart at any moment.

“I kept myself alive because I hoped I would see that boy again and thank him.”

“Hux—” Ben doesn’t try to reach again, the needles aching from the force with which he clenches the pillow beneath his head. If he dared to, he would pull Hux toward him and hold him close, tell him it’s okay, give him those sunlit childhood memories again and again. But instead, he just watches.

“And then, would you believe, I found him, after twenty years, I found him.” Hux smiles, even if just for a moment as he blinks back the unforgiving tears in his eyes before the happiness dies down. “But it didn’t go as I wanted it to. He was out of his mind and grabbed me and kissed me like some drunk.” He turns to Ben, solemn but honest. “That’s not what I wanted.”

A red alert glances up on the display of the datapad as a faint warning sound activates destroying the fragile intimacy.

Hux picks up the datapad and scans the message and stands from the seat. Any expression that he had shown has been wiped clean. “I have to leave,” he explains. “You will be discharged tomorrow. When the General returns she will have a mission for you. Until then, you are to rest and recover.”

“I understand,” is all Ben can say. He turns and rests on his back, looking up at the light panels in the ceiling, uncertain what the weight that sits on his chest is.

Straightening his jacket, Hux rounds the bed and marches toward the door. But before he can exit the room, he glances back at Ben and after a moment of hesitation, Hux turns around and walks back to him with determination.

A hand slips under Ben’s jaw and tips his chin up and a soft, barely there kiss is brushed against his lips.

Ben feels like someone has twisted a hand under his ribs and squeezed their fist around his heart.

Hux pulls away, brushing his fingers against the jaw of the man who is utterly at his mercy. A smile radiates across Hux’s features as Ben stares up at him with a wide eyed expression, not quite daring to breathe.

“Thank you, for that day,” Hux whispers and soothes his thumb over Ben’s lips.

“Y— You’re w—welcome,” stutters Ben, awe struck by the sight of the light haloing Hux’s copper hair, his pale eyes mischievous and lips crooked in an easy grin.

“I will see you soon,” Hux says and then, as swiftly as the kiss begun, he leaves the room.

On the bed, Ben is red faced and panting, feeling like a ten-year-old kid all over again.

 

They are a new contribution to the gallery of pink scars that is displayed across Ben’s skin, these barely visible relics of wounds from the crash. They are quickly hidden beneath a maroon tunic and a black vest that is held together by a thick leather belt.

There is an old star beam shaped scar on Ben’s knee from his first fight with the First Order – Ben can still feel the knotted flesh through the thick fabrics of his trousers. He had crashed uncle Luke’s fighter, the little tattered blue and white starship, nosediving it into ice and rock.

Afterwards, once the wounds had healed and he got an earful from his mother and father, Ben tried to mend the damned thing, but it was beyond hope.

The pieces of the Starfighter still remain somewhere, under dust and covers of tarp. Maybe one day, Ben will come back to it and try again.

But for now, he has others things to do.

Glancing into the mirror that hangs in the small apartment that has been assigned to him in the headquarters Ben ties up his hair and reaches for the door.

There is never a moment that the Resistance base is silent, there are always throngs of officers, pilots and engineers rushing through the corridors, wandering here and there with purpose. Somewhere, commands are given as lights flicker and flash.

Though Ben scarcely spends time here anymore – always flying between the planets, following the faint strings of information that indicate his mission – it still feels like home, even when the stars call for him.

The corridors open around Ben as he takes the familiar steps, following the streams of daylight onto the tarmac of the airfield.

Starfighters come into docking as pilots pass the charge of their craft to the mechanics. Cargo is carried somewhere into the base as the satellite dishes turns their faces to the sky, searching for some distant signals.

Ben is crossing over the tarmac when he hears footsteps fall in beside him.

“You know,” says a nonchalant voice, “a very long time ago a Jedi promised to show me the mountains.”

Ben startles and looks to his left only to see Hux walking there, hands held behind his back, shoulders at ease and eyes looking ahead.

It takes Ben all his concentration not to stumble.

“Do you think the offer is still up?” Hux looks at Ben, an eyebrow slightly lifted.

Ben smiles like it’s the first time he has tilted back the yoke of an X-Wing and the sky is opening around him, so vast and endless.

“I always keep my promises.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
